Terrible, But Great
by The Lady Rogue
Summary: Two words were written, in perfect calligraphy, along Harry's collar bone. 'Avada kedavra', the soul mark that had been with him all his life. *W.I.P.*


Two words were written, in perfect calligraphy, along Harry's collar bone.

'Avada kedavra'

The soul mark that had been with him all his life.

Aunt Petunia had slapped him the first time he mentioned them, and Harry learned never to speak of them again. It was taboo to discuss the first words your soulmate had said to you, and she hated that Harry's had formed already, although Harry didn't know why.

Harry took solace in the strange words, even if he didn't know what they meant. He threw himself into the study of the English language, and when that failed to provide an answer he moved onto other languages based on the Roman alphabet, starting with Latin and French. He lived in the library, neglecting his other studies in favour of linguistics. Harry would have been a baby when his words had been burnt into his skin, but he knew that when he found his soulmate, and said his own words back, that he would be instantly accepted.

He so desperately wanted to know what his words meant, so better as to find his soulmate.

When Hagrid arrived, signalling the introduction of the magical world Harry was delighted.

Not only because he was a wizard. But there was a whole other language out there, a language used by those whom he was raised with, used by those whom were there when he gained his marks and he couldn't wait to learn every single word in it.

Hagrid tried to stop him from buying so many books, but Harry's vault was over flowing with gold, and books were always a worthy investment. He bought a trunk that was especially designed to store them.

"Ravenclaw," the teller chuckled. Another word that Harry didn't know, but couldn't wait to learn.

"Ravenclaw!" the hat announced, and this time Harry knew exactly what it meant. Harry beamed and practically skipped to his house table.

Classes were great fun, as Harry had poured over his books before school had started and learnt all the spells he could find. There were only two classes he had problems with.

Potions. Professor Snape loathed Harry, and when Harry answered all his questions correctly, seemed to loathe Harry even more.

Defence. Professor Quirrell's stutter was a thing of legends, and he wore a horrible turban that smelt so bad it gave Harry a headache whenever he was near the man.

Harry's best friend was a Hermione, a Gryffindor that had been ostracised by her house. When they noticed she'd befriended the Boy Who Lived they made an about turn, but Hermione had learned from their disdain and returned it in full measure. The other Ravens loved Hermione, because she always had an answer for everything, and was not afraid to argue her point. Hermione liked the Ravens, but hated that when she was wrong they rubbed it her face.

After night time adventures led to the discovery of a Cerberus guarding a trap door, a wraith attacking unicorns, and a highly suspicious conversation between Quirrell and Snape they realised that the two were working together to steal the Philosopher's Stone. (Really, Hagrid couldn't keep a secret to save his life.)

"We have to stop them!" Hermione cried. Harry stared at her.

"Are you mad?" he hissed. "No bloody way. I value my life more than a stone, no matter how special it is!" Hermione sagged in defeat.

"You're right, of course."

"Gryffindors," Harry shook his head.

Professor McGonagall refused to believe them, so they went to Flitwick, who sent a patronus to Dumbledore.

"Patronus," Harry muttered. A spell he'd not even heard of! He needed to buy more books.

There was a loud boom, and the entire room shook. Harry and Hermione exchanged a wide-eyed glance and Flitwick paled.

"Stay here!" he commanded, and raced off.

"As if!" Harry muttered, and ran after him, Hermione hot on his heels.

In the entrance hall there was a handsome man in his mid-thirties covered entirely in blood. He was duelling Professor Dumbledore. A massive snake made of fire raced down the hall and Dumbledore countered with an enormous lion conjured from water.

"Awesome," Harry whispered. That was the sort of magic he wanted to learn.

Then Harry heard the two words he'd been desperate to hear all his life.

"Avada kedavra!" the handsome man hissed, and a beam of green light flew toward Professor Dumbledore. Dumbledore's eyes widened, and he sliced his wand across the air, conjuring a huge mirror. The green spell hit the mirror and it cracked, fracturing into thousands of pieces before they fell with a tinkle to the floor. Harry traced his fingers along his collarbone, eyes fixed on the handsome man, who, following the avada kedavra spell, had transformed into a tabby cat, and had slinked out the front door.

Harry knew who'd won that duel, and it wasn't Dumbledore.

"What was that spell, sir?" Harry asked Flitwick when he'd been dragged back into the man's office. "The last one. Avada kedavra?"

"Don't say it," Flitwick snapped, before he sighed, looking wearier than ever before. "Sorry, Mr Potter. But that spell is one of the three Unforgivable Curses, and using it on another wizard earns you a lifetime sentence in Azkaban."

"But what does it do?" Harry said.

"It is the Killing Curse. No wizard has ever survived it… except you."

Harry gaped.

The only person who could have possibly said his words to him… was the Dark Lord Voldemort. He realised Flitwick was talking again.

"Now, Mr Potter, I wanted to thank you for your warning earlier. You did the right thing talking to a teacher, even if He Who Must Not Be Named did escape in the end."

"Wait, what? That was Voldemort?" Flitwick flinched. He gestured for Harry to take a seat, and perched on the chair behind his desk with a frown.

"The Headmaster found Quirrell's remains in the chamber where he'd stored the Philosopher's Stone. He believes that once the Stone came to be in Who Know Who's possession, he used it to created himself a new body from Quirrell's old one. Quirrell must have been working with the wraith of Who Know Who all year." Flitwick sighed. "I believe Professor Dumbledore would have preferred that I not tell you all the details, however I feel that you deserve to know the truth."

Harry was in shock.

Lord Voldemort, the greatest, most terrible wizard of modern times was his soulmate, and he'd just out duelled Dumbledore and stolen the Philosopher's Stone.

Harry realised two things.

No one could ever know about Harry's soul mark Harry's soulmate was awesome, if slightly evil

"Thank you, sir," Harry replied gravely. "If you don't mind, I think I'd like to go to bed now." It was well past midnight, and he had a lot to think about.

The end of the year was madness, as Dumbledore declared that Lord Voldemort had returned, and the entire Wizarding World denied it. When Aurors came to interview Harry he knew what he had to do.

"I saw a man duel Professor Dumbledore but I've no idea who it was."

Harry's soulmate had killed his parents and attempted to kill Harry, but Harry had spent his life treasuring his soul mark, and he knew he couldn't reject the man that had given it to him. He spent the last few days of school researching everything he could about Lord Voldemort's reign of terror and glory. Lord Voldemort was portrayed as an evil murderous maniac, but Harry very well knew that history was written by the victors.

When Harry returned to Private Drive he immediately raced up to his room, determined to order more books from Flourish and Blotts.

Curled up on his bed was the tabby cat Harry had seen the handsome man he now knew to be the Lord Voldemort transform into.

Harry fell to one knee, even as the tabby jumped off the bed and transformed into a man, and bowed.

"My Lord, my life is yours," Harry said, his voice calm even as his hands shook. There was an intake of breath so quiet Harry almost didn't notice it, then silence. Harry risked a glance to see Lord Voldemort carefully pull back the robe covering his forearm. There, in Harry's own handwriting, were the words he'd just spoken, the burning red of the marks slowly darkening to black.

"Well, my little soulmate, it seems we have a lot to discuss," Lord Voldemort answered.


End file.
